From Dark to Light
by Scribbler
Summary: The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle rose to consciousness slowly, and had to spend a lot of time figuring out what it was to be human again before he was able to answer to any name. There's more than one type of love. YYxY if you want to read it that way.


**Disclaimer****:** Unswervingly not mine.

**A/N****:** One of the more abstruse things I've ever written. This started out as part of _As Deep as the Sky_ and just kept on going past the time limit. There is more than one type of love, and more than one definition of each.

Reviews appreciated!

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_**From Dark to Light**_

© Scribbler, November 2008.

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_It's down to this:  
I've got to make this life make sense.  
Can anyone tell what I've done?  
I miss the life,  
I miss the colours of the world.  
Can anyone tell where I am?_

'Cause now again I've found myself  
So far down, away from the sun  
That shines into the darkest place.  
I'm so far down, away from the sun again.

-- From **Away from the Sun **by 3 Doors Down.

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The day the spirit realised it existed was the most momentous.

Conscious thought. Realisation of the self.

_I … am._

Shapeless sensation became actual thought with each repetition of this fact, which most take entirely for granted. The spirit reached out as a formless mass and struck something - a limitation, a _boundary_. And the moment it hit this thing, new life was given to its consciousness so it could know what a boundary was and register it as one. Suddenly the spirit knew it existed as something more than what was around it – something separate, other, _individual_.

_I … am._

The day the spirit realised it was dead was the saddest.

_I am … no longer._

Death. Decay. Lack of a body to call its own. It couldn't weep, but it could miss the familiar boundaries of flesh. Now it was just a simmering mass of emotion, turning over and over itself like pieces of broth in a pot. Anger rose to the surface, then regret, then sorrow. It wasn't sure why it felt some of the things that boiled inside, around and through it. It had no motivation, no goal except experiencing these things. It didn't need to know _why_, just that it _was_, and that they _were_. That was enough, even though sometimes it found a longing for a purpose also agitating to the surface. That soon submerged again.

The day it realised it had another purpose was the most triumphant.

_I am no longer … unnecessary. _

Defender. Protector. Guardian. It bumped into the boundary and … didn't stop. Instead of bouncing back into itself it careened into _flesh, _and felt someone else's emotions – fear, worry, anxiety. To the spirit, which had never known these things before, touching these and taking them into itself was like drinking a cup of cold vomit. It kept the thing it had found safe when it discovered that doing so kept these terrible emotions at bay, and revelled in its newfound purpose.

The day it realised the true nature of the keep-safe-thing was the most curious.

_I am no longer unnecessary … am I?_

Thing. Person. Boy. It felt a core of iron resolve buried beneath the near-omnipresent anxiety. The keep-safe-thing was stronger than it appeared, but weak in its displays of this strength. It had iron resolve, but no iron fist. It had strength, but no fortitude. It was weakstrong, and the spirit had never come across such a mixture before. It poked and prodded, unearthing more and more things - more mixed up emotions that conflicted but still managed to coexist inside the mortal shell – until it knew the keep-safe-thing by its true name.

The day it realised it loved the keep-safe-thing was the most confusing.

In all its roiling emotions, it had never come across love before, and at first couldn't recognise it for what it was. It batted at the concept like a cat with a struggling mouse, drawing blood and examining the sheen on its claws without ever striking the killing blow. The spirit was intrigued, confused, and … frightened.

Love. Nothate. Hateopposite. Love. The emotion slid through keep-safe-thing when he looked at the friends-precious-people, and when the spirit touched this feeling in him, it recognised something from within itself as well. Deep inside, boiled into a hard stone, it found something that glowed, hot and merciless, but didn't burn. It tried to smash it, but the hot thing wouldn't break, and eventually the spirit rolled it over and up to examine. It found the hot thing was made up of the same substance as the fluid _love_ flowing through keep-safe-thing whenever he thought about his own keep-safe-things.

_I … I …_

The spirit faltered for a long time after that. It stuck so rigidly to its familiar purpose that it became unyielding. Unbending. Uncompromising.

Merciless.

The day the keep-safe-thing forcibly expelled the spirit from its mind on a castle battlement was the most painful.

_I am no longer … wanted._

Pain. Hurt. Betrayal.

Regret.

Love.

The spirit had tried to snuff out another existence, but keep-safe-thing had defended it; wanted its existence to continue; rejected the spirit wholly despite how it clung to him like sand to damp skin. The spirit couldn't understand and retreated back into its original boundaries – hard edges, old magic, and dark corners to hide and contemplate this incident. It realised a fundamental that probably all spirits but _it_ already understood. Love was wonderful. Love was self-defining.

Love hurt more than anything else ever could. More than Shadow Magic. More than penalty games. More than being bodiless.

And it wanted it back.

Keep-safe-thing loved everything and everyone. He wanted to keep them all protected, even at the cost of his own existence. And yet he didn't love himself; not the way those around him loved him – the way the spirit also loved him. The spirit wanted to please keep-safe-thing, wanted to protect him and be appreciated like it had against the Spirit of the Ring when keep-safe-thing was trapped in his own cards. Keep-safe-thing even loved those who had hurt him, and who continued to hurt him. He couldn't help but love. His emotions were like open heart surgery without anaesthetic, and the rest of the world had scalpels they kept stabbing him with, but he kept going regardless, loving and being loved as naturally as he breathed.

The spirit didn't breathe, and found nothing natural about love or the many different layers of it.

Love … was nonsensical.

The day the spirit learned how to yield was the same day it learned to apologise, learned to compromise, learned to answer to a _name_, and learned to accept the world as something separate but part of itself.

_I am … human. _

More than just a spirit, and more than that again.

_I am … me. _

_And I am human._

_Yes. _

The day the spirit realised this was the day it - **_he _**- truly began to exist.

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_**Fin. **_

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